Those Who Have Ears and Eyes
by Tori101
Summary: Fran has large ears. It is with these ears that she became deaf to the voice of the wood. It was with those ears she fell in love with a Hume, and it was her ears that led her to lose him. But with those ears, she again learned to listen. One-shot BF BV


**Those Who Have Ears and Eyes**

_Disclaimer_: I don't own Final Fantasy XII.

* * *

Fran has large ears.

The Viera are said to be able to hear the voice of the forest, is that why they have such ears? And being children of the forest, they have bodies like those of trees, tall and dark.

But Fran no longer hears the forest's whispers, even if her body does still stand tall and strong like a tree.

* * *

Many years ago, countless years ago, Fran remembers the forest.

She can remember feeling it in her skin, in her hair, in her ears, in the very being of her soul. Like a small bud, she was blessed with green life and born of the trees and became herself, but a walking piece of the forest. The Green Word was the only one her tongue knew, and she was content with this.

The treetops glistening with faraway light, and the endless, green abyss below the bridges of Eruyt filled with the calls of creatures were all familiar to her. Her feet knew the way before she'd ever even seen it with her own eyes, but that was natural.

Strict, quiet ways of the Viera settled into her core and she embraced this life she'd been birthed with.

Until she stepped foot outside of Eruyt and into the jungle, where a bow had been placed in her hand and she'd been taught to shoot.

This, too, made sense, and she excelled. There was no doubt in Fran's aim, and she held no doubt in her hands as she pulled an arrow back.

* * *

It was when the balance of the wood and the jungle was disrupted that Fran felt her first touch of true worry.

With the others, who looked and smelled like her, she'd gone out into the jungle. It was there that she had seen them, first seen the Humes.

And while that in itself stirred something inside of her, it made Fran think. Those strange creatures of earth, and sky, and water, were not of the trees like she.

"Who are they?" she had asked, but she was not answered, because the Green Word forbid any child not birthed from the forest.

This planted the seed of doubt in the Viera's stomach.

* * *

Fran was courageous enough, naive enough, or a bit of both, to steal away from the wood, and venture to the edges of the jungle she'd not yet seen. It was here, that her crimson eyes glimpsed more Humes, and it was there that she first glimpsed war.

The forest's voice was loud in her ears, but the voices of the Humes were louder, and not one of them would acknowledge the betrayal breaking Fran's heart.

* * *

"There is a world beyond the forest." Fran murmured.

"It is not of our concern, sister. We hold no thought for Humes." Jote replied back briskly, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Ivalice may not be the entire forest any longer, but the wood is still Ivalice," Fran said, refusing to face Jote.

"I…cannot stop you. You make your own decisions, my sister." Jote could only say, her voice heavy.

Fran's bow was already slung over her back, and her armor polished to a shine. Her feet were planted firmly on the bridge, and her head held high to face the hollow that lead out of the village which stood just footsteps away. Jote knew she could not stop her sister.

She looked away, saying nothing as Fran ventured forward.

The agonized screams of the forest echoed in Viera ears for some time as one of her children tried to escape, and no matter how many trees blocked her way, no matter how many creatures blocked her path, Fran continued onward. The sole hope that if she got far enough away, the cries would grow weaker and quieter driving her.

How right she'd been…how sadly right she was.

* * *

She solemnly absorbs her freedom and solitude, curious as to how she should feel towards it. Happy? Sad? Empty? These are all inconsequential to her, because she is alive, and she is in Ivalice among Humes, and there are _others_.

Every once in awhile through her quiet travels, Fran has glimpsed another Viera, and it is odd when no form or bond of kinship is first felt in her heart But the looks she receives from them, or the nearly unnoticeable twitch of an ear towards her are a guilty comfort, and the Viera warrior wonders if these sisters are also deaf to the forest's whispers.

Fran does not remember the last time she heard the voice.

* * *

Taverns grow familiar, and Fran develops a taste for the fermented beverages Humes take to their lips to bring their minds elsewhere.

She has become accustomed to hunting marks in her spare time, because her bow is just as faithful to her in the outer lands of Ivalice as it was in the darkened jungle she learned to shoot it in.

Nights fall and she accustoms herself to sipping madhu and watching the other tavern-goers with hooded eyes and pursed lips. Many a man and even a few women were drawn to the strange beauty, and in her quiet and cold way Fran dissuaded them from herself.

Not to say Fran wasn't entirely imposed with the idea of touching skin with a Hume, but thoughts of the body not connected to the wood were strange and quiet within her. But when the dancing girls indigenous to the desert towns of Ivalice would come out to entertain the tavern, the Viera's eyes watched their bodies intently.

They would sway and twist, turn and fall in such elegant movements, it reminded Fran of the long vines of the forest, or the contemplative whisker of a panther. Also, there was some misplaced kinship for those of the desert, especially those from Rabanastre. Fran felt there was a likeness, between she of the forest and those with the sand.

With the strange taste of fermented foreign fruit on her tongue and sun-bronzed beauties who held the scent of an arid sky, Fran could pretend she was not of the forest.

She could pretend she did not long for the wood.

* * *

Fran's ears are tall, easily recognized. Some foolish Humes who just don't know any better will sometimes approach and speak to her quietly, for fear that her hearing is too sensitive for their loud voices.

But her tall ears do not mean she listens.

One man surely recognized this, but he approached and spoke anyway.

"A bit far away from Nowhere, aren't you?" he asked, slipping a pint from a serving girl without even removing his green gaze from Fran.

Fran stares at him for a moment, because he has green eyes and she has not seen such color since the wood.

"And who is to say I am not from Somewhere?" she asks in return.

He smirked and flashed perfect rows of pearly teeth at her, surely a token many girls fluttered at in these parts.

"You Viera are never very detailed about where the lot of you are from, this way I am never wrong without having to be right," he explained with a shrug and a relaxed sip of alcohol.

Fran does not smile, but there is a light of amusement in her eyes and the man sees this because she does not hide it.

Somehow, without ever properly introducing themselves, the Hume and the Viera learn one another's name and Balthier shakes his flagon, watching the amber liquid within glow in the dim tavern light.

"I don't suppose you know much about caring for airships and the like?" he wonders aloud, eyeing her from the side and holding the edge of his glass to his lips.

"I learn quickly with my hands," Fran says, drinking from her own.

"I don't suppose you meant that to insinuate anything?" Balthier asks coyly and Fran looks at him through half-lidded eyes that reveal nothing.

"You know, I have a ship," he says, and Fran's ear twitches and her eyes fall to the gun he has holstered at his hip.

"And I will not be in it," the Viera declares with just the barest hint of a smile on her dark lips as she stands and slips away. It is not till after Balthier's eyes can no longer follow her retreating backside that he realizes the woman has left him with her bill.

* * *

They meet again, this time in a seedier tavern in a darker place not worth mentioning.

Fran looks impassive, but the place has her favorite wine so she doesn't complain.

When Balthier taps her shoulder and slips into the booth across from her, she does not immediately acknowledge him.

"Have you ever felt treasure in your hands, Fran?" Balthier asks, reaching across to take the second mug of wine she'd already had ready on the table.

Her red eyes fall upon him and the man matches her gaze. He grins.

"Depends on how one would value treasure," she responded cryptically.

"How is your aim?" he asks then, gesturing with his knuckles to her bow.

Like her ears, it isn't hard to see, and it is tall as Fran. Fran is taller than he is.

"The opposite of a sky pirate's honesty," the Viera replies, and Balthier's eyes alight with something Fran recognizes.

"We could find a great many treasure as our own, Fran." The sky pirate promises, and he speaks as though Fran has already agreed to join him.

But his pretentiousness is nothing to scoff at, because it isn't gambling if you know you're going to win.

And Balthier knew he had Fran from the moment he saw her ears, and Fran the minute she saw the skies in his eyes.

Because the skies did not have a forest, and there was a lure to a place that held no edge or corner.

* * *

They did not have to always speak.

Fran's ears twitched every which way her first few days aboard the Strahl as she grew accustomed to the sounds of Her systems and engines. Though the metal was always cool, warm, and smooth beneath her palms, it was the same as a tree. She could hear the machine live, even if it was not like a tree.

But her ears were never leant to Balthier for his use.

Both sky pirate and Viera could sense in the other a past not to be spoken of.

Fran would look at Balthier as he manned his ship, she would watch him and feel a familiarity in his image. It was because Balthier did not see the past, and he was constantly looking forward from the present into the next moment. Fran, too, had blinded herself to her past so that she could not look back, and she was not a curious sort who needed to know what had been before she could guess at what would be.

Both Balthier and Fran had ears, one with those much larger than the other, but neither called on the other to listen, and so both just continued to hear. For that, Fran was thankful.

* * *

Balthier wonders where to put his hands, his confusion and flustered expression amusing Fran to no end.

"Do sky pirates not know how to properly woo a lady?" she teases, and the man growls.

"Hume women, there is no question," he mumbles, "I am a God."

But she takes his hands and guides them along her body, her long white curls cascading around them like a curtain as she leans down to press a kiss to his lips.

"Even a leading man needs stage direction," she whispers into his ear before nipping it with her sharp, tiny teeth.

* * *

There is no question that Fran is dangerous.

Balthier is only too well reminded of this when she takes on two of the ugly creatures after one has knocked her bow from her hands. Not wasting a second, she leaps at them baring tooth and claw, and in seconds they are bloody smithereens at her feet, gore dripping from her fingertips and splattered over her intricate armor.

She lovingly retrieves her boy as Balthier raids the chest they fought so hard for.

When he comes up with nothing but a bangle and a few gil, Fran saunters over in her natural manor and reaches over the man's shoulder to pluck two of the coins up between her bloody claws. The pirate glances at her irritably and sees her smirk.

"My share," she says with good humor, drawing one claw down his back till it clicks on a buckle of his vest.

Balthier winces, the claw marks on his back resonating from the nearness of the one who put them there.

Fran runs a hand through the man's hair, which isn't nearly half as soft as her own, and she sighs. "Also my share," she taunts, and turns to head back to the Strahl.

Though in slight pain, Balthier can't help accepting he loves to see her go.

* * *

It is early morning, too early to be awake, and yet too early for the sun to be casting such a pink glow in the sky and in through the windows of the Strahl.

Both Fran and Balthier were awakened from slumber with tears on their lashes and neither wanted to speak of what had put them there.

So instead, Fran crawls over top of the sky pirate and her look of longing is misinterpreted to be for him, and Balthier's look of pain is ignored as such and seen as pleasure as they use their bodies instead of words.

But nothing hides the anguish in Fran's eyes and the loneliness in Balthier's and the man gasps with such relief and gratitude for the white curtain of fountain curls that hides his face from the world for only even a little while.

Because while they do not listen, they do not speak of such things, like the forest they can no longer hear, and the father they can no longer reach.

* * *

They are in the bridge of the Strahl, and the sun is just rising.

Both pirate and partner are restless and were unable to sleep so a flying lesson was in order…among other things.

Balthier had sat over Fran's lap, facing the Viera as his lips traced along the contours of her face and throat, down to her shoulders and her chest. She gasps and purrs for him, clawed hands raking down his arms and reaching again for his back, and Balthier does not care about their position because he is a true man of pleasure and only cares for the sensation, not the ballistics.

Afterwards, they are both wrapped in sheets and sitting on the floor, not one of them questioning why, even though there are several seats open. Balthier could be whispering sweet nothings, but Fran prefers the reality of his tired breathing instead.

Fran stands, then, and faces the observation window with a determined look, uncaring that she had only a simple linen sheet wrapped around her middle, and she made for the captain's chair, sitting down and reaching for the control panel.

From behind her, she feels Balthier's arms reach around from behind the chair and rest over her shoulders.

"What is it you want, Fran?" he asks.

"Freedom." She answers, and he nods and allows her to pilot the Strahl by herself, his eyes closed and his nose in her hair, because he trusts her and her hands.

"You're a true sky pirate, now…" he says gently.

The bridge becomes filled with silence, and neither feels the need to break it.

* * *

Time has never been relevant to Fran.

She remembers her past easily, though it burns her heart bitterly to do so now, and the long years she's lived mesh together from her time in the wood, to the time she spent wandering the rest of Ivalice. Nearly fifty years since she left this place, her home, her forest, and to her the memory is as inconsequential as days. To a Hume, that is half a life time.

Never before has she concerned herself with the coming and going of time, till that boy questioned her age and she could do nothing but stride back through the hollow and leave Eruyt behind again.

When Balthier caught up to her, an amused grin on his lips and murmured words of the street rat, Fran stared at the Hume's face.

Balthier was young.

Her crimson eyes flickered to the soldier, and Basch's face bore the early signs of aging. He was in his prime, but Fran did not like the unsettled feeling coiling in her stomach when she saw the worn, tired look to his eyes beneath the vibrancy of his determination and spirit. His soul was aged far more than his body.

The Viera's ears flicked back when she heard the children, and a quick backward glance showed her Vaan and Penelo, trying to discuss something with Ashe who did not look interested.

Vaan had recovered from everyone's rebuff of him, and had gotten back into Penelo's good graces, and he laughed at something he may have even said. Fran saw the fountain of youth behind the thief's stormy eyes, and her gaze fell back to Balthier, who was gazing at her quizzically.

"Something on your mind, Fran?" the pirate asked.

"…No, nothing important," she replied, face a mask as she moved ahead.

She did not need to be thinking about a Hume's ever present mortality, they fought with their necks on the chopping clock every day, it made no difference.

"He will age, like the trees," Fran couldn't help but whisper when she reached the jungle, her hand reaching out for a nearby tree.

Her ears wrung with the silence, and she was thankful when the party's ever present and boisterous voices and noise caught up to her.

* * *

Though no longer one with the wood, Fran found somewhere deep in her heart that she was accepting this reality. Albeit slowly.

The ever present sentience of the wood that had accompanied her conscience had been long gone for some time now, she knew this. But to accept it, live with it calmly and still feel like she was a Viera, a child of the wood, was difficult.

There was fear, there. The fear of rejection Fran had revealed to Jote in her final goodbye, and the fear of the loneliness.

For Fran, far too long had she lived alone, calling it solitude because it was easier to sleep warmly calling it that than admitting she was lonely. Alone, of course, but never lonely, she had told herself. But then Balthier had quite literally waltzed into her life and Fran did not experience the aching from being a single entity alone amongst too many others who were not connected to you.

A small smile broke out over the woman's lips, and her claw-tipped fingers gently sifted through soft platinum tresses. It was peaceful on the Phon Coast, just near the outskirts of the Hunter's Camp, with just the wind and the surf as company. Vaan had found her there, and to Fran's puzzled amusement, asked to sit with her to watch the sunset.

He then went on to chatter about something or other, possibly something about earlier with Penelo and an argument over the benefits of new armor. Whilst the boy chattered away like a Giza Rabbit, Fran was quietly surprised to find that she did not mind. Nor did she put up a protest when the child yawned tiredly and rested his head in the Viera's lap.

He made some comment of her armor being uncomfortable, but he quieted and soon slipped off into slumber when Fran began to rhythmically stroke his brow and sift through his hair.

Balthier stepped out at some point to stand by them silently to watch as the last bit of sun sunk into the sea on the horizon, and was the first to suggest they head to the Camp to find their proper beds.

"I'll take him," the man mentioned towards Vaan, and Fran allowed him to lift the boy from her into his arms before she too stood. They retreated back to camp, sharing a quiet chuckle at Vaan's expense when the little urchin murmured something in annoyance against Balthier's chest about Mu and their deceiving cuteness…and possibly something else about stuffing one as a gift for someone, but the words were lost in sleepy drawl.

"He's far more pleasant mumbling nonsense asleep than spewing it during the day," Balthier commented.

"He is not so terrible."

Gazing at the boy's sleeping face, and then Balthier's, Fran walked a step behind them so the man could not see the gentle smile she wore.

No, Fran was no longer lonely.

* * *

Honestly, Fran was not surprised when she heard them.

Though the two had strived to keep it hidden, it was inevitable that Fran discover them sooner or later. She saw things no one else did, that no one else could. She could catch the scent in the air.

Saving the embarrassment to them of revealing her knowledge, she waited until she felt that her heart would not ache at the mention of it. It took a very long time, a long time indeed. It was a relief that their mission to stop Vayne had provided her enough of a distraction and outlet.

It was early in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to warm the sky. With a sense of bittersweet melancholy, Fran could not help feeling that it was their time.

"Balthier…" she said, just saying his name was enough to get his serious attention away from the flying controls.

Fran waited a moment, and Balthier knew to be patient for it.

She stood then from her co-pilot's chair and strode over towards the sky pirate, her crimson eyes locked on his green gaze, and her hands reaching for his face.

"Fran, what is it?" he asked breathily, eyes growing half-lidded and lips parting.

"One treasure is loved above all others," she murmured, leaning closer to press her lips to the man's brow, and then down to the tip of his nose between words.

Balthier began to lift a hand to reach for her hair, but one of Fran's slipped from his cheek to grasp his fingers, pulling them away from herself.

"At least until a new treasure is claimed and takes the place as most favored." She said sadly, her eyes locking with his, her one hand stroking his soft cheek. Balthier had never been a man for facial hair.

"Fran, what are you getting at?" the man asked, a pained look growing in his eyes as a startled realization began to dawn on his face.

"This one understands this, and so…" she murmured, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips.

Fran then graced her lips against Balthier's, ever so gently and sensuously, her final moment of them savored.

"…I release you, sky pirate," she whispered, pulling back so that her fingertips ghosted over him before leaving his face and hand.

Turning away, the Viera retreated normally towards the hallway.

Despite everything, the desire to spring up and go after her, the urge to deny everything, the wish that things hadn't become complicated, the foreign draw he held for the wiry thief; Balthier can't help accepting he still loves to see her go.

* * *

The Bahamut lies close in their course, everyone is riddled with anxiety. But Fran and Balthier still posed the epitome of cool, calm, and level-headed.

They all stay up late into the night, contemplating their imminent demise or victory, this close to death and unable to deny one possibility over the other. No one can speak, and when the Princess does open her mouth, no one tries to close it, and they listen to her speech, not remembering what it was about, but knowing there was some comfort in hearing it.

Penelo retreats from them and sniffles are heard from beyond the room, and Vaan goes after her with a concerned look. Both children are gone for a few minutes, and during that time Basch wonders aloud if they must involve such children in their fight.

But they know he does not mean to drop them off somewhere. They have traveled this long together, been through more together than most will ever fear to face. And though she says nothing, Fran would not allow this new clan of hers to become broken, even if it did mean relative safety for the street rat and desert flower. How long would they be safe before they got themselves into trouble, or the Empire came after them, or just simply Rabanastre altogether?

Like a clan, they would share victory, or they would fall during battle.

Fran said nothing of this, but they all understood.

When Vaan returned with the still sniffling Penelo being led by her wrist, the boy's face showed he had no idea what to do. Basch looked as though he would stand, but it was instead Ashe who went to the young girl and took her from Vaan's hands. The desert boy then went to one of the Strahl's windows to stare out at the dark night sky.

Balthier's gaze was on him, and flickered to Fran who had stepped over to him. The pirate's apprehension dissolved when Fran merely placed a hand on Vaan's shoulder, her lips moving to form some sort of reassuring phrase. Vaan looked up and over to Balthier, and the Viera and sky pirate met gazes.

A quick nod from Fran was more than a thousand words.

Not long afterwards, everyone had gone to retire for the night, knowing they would need rest. The pirate hung back in the bridge with Fran, his eyes on the control panel.

"Go." Fran says, her voice unwavering and gentle.

She turns to him, and Balthier feels a small ache in his chest.

"What little comfort you can find is more than enough before battle," she murmurs, and turns her attention back to the controls.

"And what of you?" Balthier questions, his feet having already drawn him towards the doorway, but his eyes were glued to the back of Fran's head.

"I will be fine," she says, her eyes staring at the slight reflection of him in the window.

The pirate bows his head, and looks back at her once more, green eyes blazing brightly.

"You're my partner, Fran. This is _our_ ship." He states, almost desperately, needing something to cling to.

"A sky pirate flies," the Viera says, "and without a ship he is nothing. The Strahl is also my ship, Balthier, and I am a sky pirate." She says, saying his name.

The man nods, still looking vexed, but there is another on his mind who is not as strong as Fran is appearing, and needs him.

When he is gone, Fran slumps in her chair, hands still on the controls.

It is all for the best, she still reminds herself, recalling Balthier's brilliant green gaze as she wraps her arms around herself, imagining she was holding one of his bed sheets they often dragged onto the bridge.

Though it is hard, no, impossible, to fully pass over the Hume, Fran honestly knows it is for the best. If she was as before, she would have to watch as the green grayed slowly and painfully, and time would pass all too quickly and slowly for her at the same time.

It would be like watching a tree petrify, she had seen it. The rich green of life would slowly fade and dry, becoming brittle and gray, and in the end hardening like stone. As she was, it would be too painful, far too painful.

This way, the green could remain living longer, because Fran would not be living in her time, but theirs, and Humes believe they age slowly. A sad smile alighted the Viera's lips.

Like this, she would not think of the tomorrow that awaited, of grayed greens and dead sandstorms. With things now, she would ignore it for as long as she could, deny it entrance to her thoughts. She would drink endless flasks of madhu and phials of Bacchus' Wine till she was able to delude herself into denying the non-existence of forever, if only to live beside these Humes she had come to love.

But no matter what, Fran does not cry. She is a proud, strong woman, and she does not look down upon those who weep. But she is a Viera, and she is herself, and she will not cry.

* * *

Fran has large ears.

It is with these ears that she became deaf to the voice of the wood. It was with those ears she fell in love with a Hume, and it was her ears that led her to lose him. But with those ears, she again learned to listen, and she listened to the cheering crowds as a true queen was restored. She listened to creatures and races mourn and celebrate for those lost in the war, and the end of the war respectively.

She listened to the Strahl's living hum.

She listened to her past lover's laugh and relished the memory of gasps of her name and air.

She listened to a thief laugh, and chatter to her about nothing in particular.

She listened to her own laughter when her heart became light enough to allow it.

One day, she was walking the crowded streets of Rabanastre to shop for supplies. Balthier and Vaan had gone off to settle the petition for a mark and collect a few other debts the sky pirates were able to strike up these days.

And, all of a sudden, while she was examining potions before buying a certain batch, her ears twitched and her eyes widened.

She could hear a distant yet familiar voice, and with the warmth of the forest beginning to stir the embers and burn deep inside of her, she listened.

She listened to the voice of the forest and she smiled, turning her face up towards the sun, and she laughed.

It mattered not to her that tears of joy were streaming down her face.

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
